Dirty Chai
by CourtingInsanity
Summary: Hermione is eating breakfast at her favourite cafe; the same thing she has done every Sunday for the past few years. Her coffee order is mixed up with the stranger hiding behind a newspaper...only, it isn't a stranger. One shot! Written for "Scenario Sundays" on Dramione Fanfiction Writers Facebook group. Scenario: Coffee shop.


**Roses are red**

 **Violets are blue**

 **I don't own Harry Potter**

 **This is sad, but true**

 ** _Written for Scenario Sundays in Dramione Fanfiction Writers group on Facebook (27/05/18). Scenario: coffee shop._**

* * *

Hermione Granger ate breakfast at the same small café every Sunday morning. Mojo's was located beneath her apartment, and it served the best dirty chai in Muggle London. Though it had become tradition when she was Ronald, three years on from their breakup Hermione had not changed her routine.

On this particular morning, Hermione had opted for eggs benedict and her usual latte. She had _The Daily Prophet_ open to her left, though she had concealed it to look like a regular Muggle newspaper lest the waitress peek over her shoulder.

Hermione swallowed her mouthful and reached for her mug. She brought the drink to her lips and blew softly onto the steaming liquid. The smell was sweeter than she was used to, but the thought barely registered as she frowned down at page six.

"Oh, Merlin!" Hermione quickly put the mug down, porcelain clinking against porcelain as it settled back into the saucer. She swallowed thickly, her lips pursed. Whatever she had just ingested, it wasn't a dirty chai latte; it was far too sweet and sickly, the liquid dripping down her throat like syrup.

Dabbing at her mouth with a napkin, Hermione looked up towards the counter.

"Excuse me?" She called across the café; it was still fairly quiet this early in the morning. Only two other tables were occupied. An elderly couple sat near the window, a tea pot and two mugs on the table between them. A lone male was behind her, near the door, hidden behind a large newspaper.

The red haired waitress smiled and bustled over, stuffing her notepad in the pocket of her apron.

"Hermione," she greeted warmly. "Everything okay?"

"No, I'm afraid I have the wrong drink."

"The wrong drink?"

"Yes, this isn't my usual latte," Hermione gestured towards her mug.

"I'm so sorry," the waitress frowned and reached for the mug. "I'll bring you your latte, on the house."

"Thank you, that would be – "

Hermione was cut off by a masculine arm reaching over her right shoulder and gripping the offending mug. He lifted it from the saucer and it flew past Hermione's face, barely missing her cheek.

"Hey!" She huffed, and turned awkwardly in her chair to face the assailant. There was the sound of sipping, his head leaning back as he drank; she was unable to see his face.

"What do you think you're – " Hermione was cut off again.

"This is mine," the stranger said. "I wondered why my caramel macchiato tasted like cardboard."

Hermione spluttered in indignation.

"I'm so sorry," the waitress repeated, glancing between the two of them. "Hermione, I'll bring you a new mug."

Hermione opened her mouth to thank the waitress but was interrupted by a hacking coughing sound behind her. Having had quite enough of this rude behaviour, Hermione was ready to whip around and serve this annoying sod with a verbal diatribe to rival Minerva McGonagall.

She faced him, brown eyes meeting grey, mouth open and chest full of air, ready to unleash a rant so fierce, he'd never return to this café again…

"Malfoy?"

"Granger?"

He was wearing jeans, of all things, and his hair was longer and less tamed than she remembered. His eyes were softer, and a hint of smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, rather than the ugly sneer he had worn when they were teenagers.

Malfoy chuckled and Hermione realised she was staring, her jaw still slack. She snapped her mouth shut and felt the blush rise up her cheeks. She cleared her throat.

"Long time no see," she attempted a nonchalant tone, but her voice was high pitched and slightly strangled.

"Indeed," he nodded.

"You have terrible taste in coffee," she blurted out. The grin widened as her blush deepened.

"I would say the same thing about you, Granger," he teased. "That slop you call coffee could have passed for sewerage." He wrinkled his nose and Hermione felt the word 'adorable' scratch at the edge of her mind. She swallowed thickly and forced it away.

Her eyes narrowed and she folded her arms across her chest.

"Better than that liquefied diabetic coma you call a beverage," she sniffed.

"A liquefied what?" Malfoy frowned slightly. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"It's a Muggle term; I suppose it's not a sermon you'd have grown up with." She paused and then pointed to herself as an afterthought. "Dentist parents."

This seemed to confuse Malfoy further, but he didn't seek clarification. Instead he nodded and licked his lips. The movement caught Hermione's eye and her gaze dropped to his mouth without her permission.

 _What in Godric's name…get a grip!_ She mentally chided herself.

Malfoy's lips were now moving as he spoke and Hermione forced herself to look back into his eyes.

"Would you like some company?"

"Sure," Hermione nodded, a little too eager. Malfoy smirked; the action made him a lot more recognisable. She hadn't meant to sound keen; her response was more a reflex than a genuine invitation.

Malfoy squeezed past her, their chests brushing against each other for the briefest of moments, and sat down in the chair opposite hers. It took a couple of seconds for Hermione's brain to regain its equilibrium after the physical contact, the feeling of the hard planes of his chest replaying on a loop against her own. Once her senses kicked in again, she quickly retook her seat.

"So," Malfoy offered her a lopsided smile over his mug. His large hands were wrapped around the warmth and Hermione found herself staring at the way his thumbs brushed rhythmically against the china.

"So," she echoed. "What are you doing in Muggle London?"

Malfoy arched a pale eyebrow. "You don't beat around the bush do you, Granger?"

Hermione smirked. "I've never understood why anyone concerned themselves with small talk."

"Why does that not surprise me?" He took a sip of his drink and Hermione grimaced.

Before he could offer her a scathing explanation of how his coffee order was superior to hers, the waitress reappeared with a fresh latte.

"I'm so sorry again," she smiled at both of them as she set the mug in front of Hermione. "Is there anything else I can get either of you?"

"No, thanks." They spoke in unison. Hermione's eyebrows shot upwards and Malfoy chuckled under his breath.

The waitress smiled conspiratorially, wished them good day and turned to head back into the kitchen.

"I'm in Muggle London," Malfoy lowered his voice and leant forward slightly, "because I'm looking to buy an apartment here. I'm supposed to be meeting a realtor at ten, but I was up early, so…" he trailed off and took another sip of his coffee. "What about you?"

Hermione was still trying to process the thought of Draco Malfoy living in Muggle London. One part of her brain was conjuring images of the blond wizard lounging about a bachelor-pad style apartment, watching television, doing the washing, and keeping food in a shiny stainless steel fridge. The other part of her brain was comprehending that he had asked her a question.

"I'm having in Muggle London."

 _What?_

Hermione's brain had scrambled _I'm having breakfast_ and _You? Living in Muggle London?_ She wondered if the blush would ever fade from the high points on her cheeks. Malfoy frowned, his head tilting to the side.

"Having what?"

"Sorry," Hermione sipped her drink to give herself time to think. _What is happening, it's Malfoy for Merlin's sake!_

"I mean, I'm having breakfast. I live in the apartment above the café." She pointed towards the ceiling.

"I should have known that I was in the presence of an expert," Malfoy nodded and offered her a genuine smile.

Hermione wished she would stop blushing.

"An expert?"

"On Muggle London. I'm actually looking to buy in this area," he gestured towards the window.

"Why?"

Hermione hadn't meant to sound to accusatory, but the idea was so absurd to her. Draco Malfoy living amongst people he had classed as beneath him for the majority of his life? It made no sense.

Thankfully, he did not take offence. Instead, he chuckled, a low rumbling sound that sent shivers down Hermione's spine.

"I own a company which has an office in Diagon Alley and services the Wizarding world. However, we also do a lot of work in the Muggle world, and I thought it was about time I focus on that side of things. Hence, I need an apartment closer to work. A three hour commute every day is less than desirable; no Floo powder, see?" He winked and took another sip of his drink.

"Oh," Hermione blinked.

One wink from Draco Malfoy and she was a puddle on the floor.

"No need to ask you what you do," he grinned. "What was that club you started in fourth year?" His eyes twinkled with mirth and Hermione couldn't help but return his smile.

"The Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare," she enunciated primly.

"Ah, that's right!" Malfoy clicked his fingers. "Spew!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes well, _spew_ , is now a piece of official legislation and my _club_ has over ten thousand magical members."

It was hard not to be proud of her work, and it seemed that Malfoy was genuinely interested, even if his tone was teasing.

"I know all about your work in the Department for the Welfare of Magical Creatures," he smiled.

"Of course," Hermione nodded. "You own House Elves."

Malfoy shook his head. "My parents do," he corrected. "I haven't lived at the Manor since the end of seventh year."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. She had not paid all that much attention to what the Malfoys had done since the Battle of Hogwarts, but she would have assumed the _Prophet,_ still in the clutches of Rita Skeeter, would have had a field day if the most eligible bachelor had flown the nest.

"Oh," she managed to utter around another mouthful of coffee.

There was an uncomfortably silence in which both focused on the hot drinks in front of them. While it seemed a lot had changed since they had been at Hogwarts, the fact that they had never been friends – had never said two nice words to each other – hung over them like a thunder cloud.

"Are you married?" Malfoy suddenly asked. Hermione swallowed quickly and coughed against the hot liquid as it assaulted her throat.

"No," she managed to choke out, her eyes watering. "Though that is a rather personal question, Malfoy."

"I apologise," he grinned, not looking the least bit sorry. "I just wanted to know if it would be improper of me to ask for your help today."

"My help?" Hermione felt as if someone had cut open the top of her head, taken out her brain and played a full game of football with it, and then placed it back inside her skull backwards.

"With house hunting; I could really use an expert."

"You want my help looking at apartments?"

"Yes," Malfoy shrugged and took another sip of his coffee.

Hermione made a sound halfway between a cough and a laugh. "Is this some sort of set up? Have you brought television cameras with you?" She looked out of the window, ducking her head to get a better angle of the street outside; it appeared to be fairly deserted.

Malfoy frowned. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said quickly. "So will you come with me?"

She meant to say no. _No thank you, Malfoy_. She had even pictured the neutral smile she would offer him. A polite decline to an unreasonable request; they weren't even friends, for Merlin's sake – why would she ask him to…

"Yes," Hermione heard herself saying.

 _Wait, what?_

"I'd love to help."

 _No I wouldn't!_ The little voice was growing fainter. _Hello? Stop!_

"Great," Malfoy grinned, a seemingly effortless movement that caused Hermione's heart rate to soar. "Should we ask Mikayla to put this in a take away cup?" He gestured towards their coffees, which were still half full.

"Oh," Hermione glanced down at her mug. "Yes, I think so."

She turned to look towards the counter where the familiar waitress, who had served Hermione every Sunday morning for the past three years, was standing behind the cash register. Her mouth opened, intent on calling the girl over, when the little voice once again pounded on the inside of her skull.

She closed her mouth, turned back to Malfoy who was still grinning, and frowned. He arched an eyebrow questioningly.

"Wait a minute," she screwed up her face in concentration. "How do you know Mikayla's name?"

Malfoy's smile slipped from his face and his cheeks flushed pink. He refused to make eye contact as he replied, instead directing his explanation at the mug in his hands.

"I've come here a few times," he said slowly.

"How many times?" Hermione's tone was accusatory.

"A few," he repeated.

"Malfoy," she said warningly.

The blond reluctantly raised his head, his cheeks still pink. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth and Hermione was momentarily distracted.

"Alright, alright," he held up one hand as if to surrender. "I might have been coming here for a little over six months."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I stumbled across it one Sunday morning," he explained. His eyes bore into hers, making Hermione uncomfortable, but she held her gaze.

"A Sunday?" She echoed. Her heartrate must be at double its usual speed.

"Yes, a Sunday." He nodded. "It was a good coffee."

"What?" Hermione felt as if she had been lifted to a great height and then dropped unceremoniously onto concrete.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Fine, I saw you, Granger." Hermione froze. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. "I just didn't know it was _you;_ Hermione Granger, Golden Girl and Brightest Witch of Our Age."

She cleared her throat as warmth trickled up her neck like syrup working in reverse. "I still don't under – "

"I was attracted to you," Malfoy sighed, exasperation and mild embarrassment rolling off him in waves.

"Oh."

"Am attracted to you, I should say." He bit his lip as he met her gaze again and Hermione was briefly but cruelly reminded how long it had been since she had been intimate with a man.

Oblivious to her discomfort, Malfoy stood and offered Hermione his hand."So, shall we go and meet this realtor? I promise I won't bite."

Hermione rolled her eyes and accepted his hand. It was warm from holding his mug, and he laced his fingers through hers as he started for the door.

"That is," he was still holding firmly on to her hand as he opened the door for her, "unless you want me to…"


End file.
